


Sad That You Can't Hear

by DragonsPhoenix



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Jossverse
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:28:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4491879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsPhoenix/pseuds/DragonsPhoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was listening to Cat Steven's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MRHN7nUg26M">How Can I Tell You</a> and some of the lyrics gave me an idea: after Jenny's death, Rupert talks to her, speaking to her as if she were there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sad That You Can't Hear

**Author's Note:**

> Nominated at the [2015 No Rest for the Wicked Awards](http://wicked-awards.livejournal.com/43097.html)
> 
> Nominated at the [2015 Sunny D Awards](http://sunnydawards.dragonydreams.com/index.html)
> 
> Nominated at the 2016 [Headline Awards](http://headlineawards.tumblr.com/) in the Twosome of Cuteness category.  
> Runner-Up in the Twosome of Cuteness Cagetory where they were kind enough to write up this delightful description: _‘Sad That You Can’t Hear’ is the epitome of tragic romance. The beautiful writing makes us grieve along with Giles as he mourns his lost Jenny, in a story that brings her vividly to life in so many ways, painfully underlining the gnawing absence at the heart of the story. In canon, we lose Jenny Calendar pretty quickly. This emotional tale reminds us that for Giles, love lasted much longer._  
>   
>  Nominated at [Round 11 of Running with Scissors](http://rwsawards.livejournal.com/49386.html).  
> 

At first, Rupert had seen her everywhere. That had faded with time but he had thought he might have this one final glance, perhaps waiting by the pond? She wasn't there, of course. His gaze dropped to her tombstone. The pale granite glowed as brightly as she ever had. The bronze marker, dull even in the bright sunlight, spelled out her name: Jennifer Calendar. 

“I used to know a bloke, Wayne was his name, who'd cheat on his wife and then bring her gifts: jewelry, chocolates, flowers.” Rupert's grip tightened on the plastic enveloping his bouquet. “You deserve.” A long moment passed before he could force out the word. “Roses. You deserve roses but ever since that night I can't bear to look on them.” 

He dropped to his knees and laid the flowers before her headstone. “Daisies. Childlike innocence. Far too simple a flower to express all that you were, all that we were together, all that you still mean to me.”

As he stood, Rupert looked away from the grave. “After Wayne's wife had discovered his affairs, he expressed an imaginative variety of excuses, reasons why it wasn't his fault. I fear that, in this, I am again emulating him. There was this candy you see. Cursed. I'm afraid I wasn't a particularly responsible young man.”

With his eyes closed, he could almost see her standing by the tree beyond the pool. “You were so full of life and I, I felt alive as well although now, well, the phrase stick in the mud comes to mind. I feel desiccated, dried up, spent but when I imagine you, I see you at your most vibrant.”

There was no one standing past the pond. That made his confession harder somehow. “Just over a week ago, I spent a night with Joyce. You've never been selfish. I know you'd want me to find comfort although preferably without the drugged reversion to my teenage self. What I'm trying to say is that I know you'd want me to, as the children would say, move on. Not forget you, of course, but …” 

He looked down at the daisies. Perhaps, instead, he should have brought rue. “Here's the thing. I can't move on, not while I'm holding onto your memory. I have to let you go. I know that I'm the one who keeps talking with – to – you. I'm the one that …” He pulled off his glasses and let them dangle from his fingers. “I have to accept that you can't hear me.”

He felt as if he should reach out to touch her headstone one last time. He took a step back. “That's why I've come, to say goodbye, that and I'm sorry. You deserved a life.”

He turned away, took two steps, and stopped. He'd never said I love you, but if he turned back now he felt as if he'd be frozen, forever searching for the words. His footsteps fell, silent against the grass, and he didn't look back. His hand brushed away tears. When he brought the fingers to his mouth, he tasted salt.


End file.
